Winging It
by keru.m
Summary: An unwelcome intruder in Mac's apartment. Harm has a plan...sort of.


Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own'em.

A/N: Would this have happened on the show? Probably not. Does that stop me from writing about it? Hardly. I have taken a grievous amount of liberties with reality in general on this one, just so you know. Please note that no animals were harmed in the making of this story.

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**Winging It**

Mac stood in her living room and eyed her bedroom door with no small degree of trepidation. This situation called for some Marine bravado. She was, however, feeling quite low on the bravado. She looked around her living room helplessly - where was Harm - and immediately chastised herself for the thought. He was obviously not here. She wished he were. Maybe hiding behind her couch. Or under her coffee table - would he fit under her coffee table? Probably not. There was a whole lot of him. And that whole lot of him was presently not in her apartment.

She debated on what to do. She could call Harm on his cell phone, that way she would be sure to reach him. But that would mean actually fessing up to him that she couldn't handle this on her own. And she could. She so could. She just didn't want to.

A dull thump emanated from her room and abruptly put an end to her inner battle. Mac reached hastily for the phone and dialled his cell. She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for him to answer the call. To hell with self-respect.

Three interminable rings later, he answered.

"Rabb."

"Umm…Hi, Harm."

"Mac!" She almost smiled at the note of pleasure his voice held when he said her name. Lately, she had noticed that his mood would lift whenever he saw her or spoke to her. The fact warmed her to the very roots of her being. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise," he paused - she pictured him frowning - before continuing, "Your voice sounds a bit odd, are you alright?"

"I was watching TV and felt a draft so I went to my room to get a sweater," she forced herself to stop rambling, "but…umm…There's a, ah, a thudding coming from inside my bedroom."

"What?!" he said a little too loudly, a little too abruptly. He didn't give her a chance to respond. Mac barely bit back a sigh. Just great. His protective instincts were now in full flight. "Did you call the police? Tell me you called the police. Wait. I'll call the police. You stay on the line." She heard him mumble something about his home phone and…wait, did he just say gun?

"Harm! Wait!" She urgently tried to flag his attention. Now was not the time for him to go caped crusader on her. At least not until he knew the whole story. "I think you should listen before you make any, umm, calls."

She heard him go still. "Alright," confusion stretched his syllables. She heard him take a seat on his couch and wondered if he was thinking that another estranged husband or lover had slithered out of the woodwork.

"It's not an intruder. Well," Mac amended, "not a human one."

His confusion only increased. "Then what is it?"

"It's a…umm…"

"What, Mac," the worry in his voice was tangible.

"I think it's a rodent or something…" her voice trailed off. She knew he was going to make fun of her.

Harm didn't even try to stop his laughter. "You're calling me because there's a rodent in your bedroom?" He laughed heartily for a few more minutes before adding, "Afraid, Marine? What would the Corps say?"

"Harmon Rabb." Her tone held a lethal warning.

"Now, now, Mac. If I were asking someone to graciously offer their help, I'd be nice about it." He was savouring this moment too much for her liking.

Mac gripped the handset with all frustration she felt and pretended it was his neck. He was mocking her! The nerve. He had better not make her beg.

"Don't go thinking violent thoughts, now, Mac." She thought it was infuriating how good he was getting at reading her and seriously considered hanging up - until she heard a thud from inside her bedroom. Rock.

She heard Harm through the ear piece, "Mac?" Hard place.

And she was stuck.

She stuffed her pride down deep in a dark corner with her self-respect and prayed she would still be able to live with herself - and Harm - in the morning.

"Harm, please, I," she rolled her eyes and took a deep, fortifying breath, "need your..." there had to be a better word, "assistance." That was a pretty decent word. At least it wasn't the 'h' word.

"What was that, Mac? There's some static on my end." She barely checked the sudden urge to whack the headset against the table. Deep breath.

There was one weapon in her arsenal she had yet to use. She would be damned if she were to put on the helpless female act for him. That was, after all, exactly what he was waiting for. But there was one stronger weapon, one she only sparingly used on him through all the years they had known each other. She reasoned that this situation definitely warranted its use.

"Harm," she forced her tone to ooze sensuality even as another thud resounded in her bedroom, "can you please," here she made her voice a little throaty, "come over?" and here she lowered her tone to a whisper, "I need you." She paused. "Harm," she stretched his name out with sated ease of a cat awakening from a nap.

She waited patiently for his answer for about 13 seconds.

"Harm?"

Silence. Maybe the call had been disconnected. She tried to listen for the sounds of his breathing.

"You there, Harm?"

"I'll be right there," his voice held an unfamiliar squeak. He abruptly ended the call and Mac congratulated herself on a job well done before another thud from her room put an end to her self-praise.

What the hell was that in her room? And how long would it take for Harm to come and take it the hell out?

The thudding became more persistent, alternating between a loud, clear sound and a soft, muffled one. She tried to focus on the sound in the hopes of divining its origin, but the unsavoury combination of unidentifiable noises and her overly active imagination only served to conjure up images she had not seen since her childhood nightmares. She looked around her apartment once more in vain. Where was Harm?

'What would the Corps say?' Harm's words suddenly bounced and reverberated through the hollow caverns of her fear. No, not fear. Reluctance. She wasn't scared. Just reluctant. Not scared. So she had asked for some help. From a Navy man. So what. It was only because she wasn't allowed to shoot her gun in her apartment. Otherwise she would have cocked one at the sucker and gone back to watching TV.

'Poor excuse, Marine'. The voice of her Drill Sergeant from boot camp echoed in the now crowded caverns of her reluctance. Unconsciously, she stood straighter. 'What would the Corps say?' She stood straighter still. She was a Marine. If some animal or rodent or thing was thudding around in her bedroom, she could face it. She would face it. And not only would she face it, but she would capture the damn thing. And skewer it and eat it for dinner. With just a little salt for flavouring. Maybe she should make a quick stop at the grocery store first to buy ketchup.

'What would the Corps say?'

She was going to throttle Harm the minute he put his non-punctual foot – where the hell was he – through her door for unleashing that nagging echo into her head. He knew she couldn't refuse a challenge no matter how unpalatable or idiotic. Especially if it came from him.

Mac took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Cautiously, she approached her door and put a hand on the doorknob. She counted to five. Just to be safe. She turned the knob slowly. So slowly that she could feel every click of the knob as it turned. Just to be safe.

Carefully, she pushed the door slightly open. One inch. She paused. Nothing. One more inch. She paused. Nothing. Another inch. She tried to peak through the three-inch crack but couldn't see much of anything. First, because it was a three-inch crack, and second, the lights in her room were off and the curtains were drawn. Why were her lights off? Next time some crazy thing infested her room, she was going to leave the lights on before she ran the hell out. Or, rather, before she walked out of the room at a quick, efficient pace.

She pushed the door open another inch and counted to three. Her eyes were focused on the darkness behind the door, her ears on the silence. Nothing. She slowly reached a hand through the opening and slid it along the wall looking for the light switch. She trailed her hand back and forth seeking it out...where the hell was it - there! She flicked the switch and light flooded the dark corners of her room. She remained absolutely still, her hand on the light switch, her eyes canvassing the parts of her room that she could see, her ears attentive for the slightest sound. Nothing. She could detect no movement, hear no sound.

She pushed the door open another inch. She paused. Nothing. Maybe she should just enter the room and do a proper recon. As soon as she lifted her foot for that final step, a cacophony of sounds bandied and bounced across the walls of her room and right into her heart. Her grip on the doorknob tightened and it took all her willpower not to slam the door and hammer it shut with the help of some two-by-fours. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her heart the hell down. Where was that horrifying racket coming from? Mac frowned in concentration, trying to hone in on the source of the noise. Just as suddenly as it started it ended, leaving only the echo of disarray thrumming in her ears.

"What is all that noise?"

The voice behind her was so unexpected and she was so wound up that her instinctive reflexes and training kicked in. She reached behind her, grabbed the source of the voice and flipped it over her, effectively throwing it into the now partially-open door. The door flew wide open, the source of the voice landed on its back on the ground and she quickly straddled it, one hand on its throat.

"Mac! It's just me!" She focused on the face below her. Harm's face.

"Oh, geez! Shit," she put a hand to her chest in a vain attempt to still the painful thudding of her heart, to try and force her lungs to breathe. "Are you crazy! I could have hurt you!" She paused in her efforts to regain control of her vital organs: she had just thrown Harm into a door. "Wait, did I hurt you? Are you okay?"

He grinned up at her, "Great. I'm enjoying the view."

The nerve. She glared at him, her breathing and heartbeat still erratic. If she hadn't just thrown him into a door for sneaking up on her, she would have thrown him into a door for being impudent.

A thudding sound drew their attention away from each other and to the room in which they were now both lying. It seemed to be coming from her closet. Which was behind her. Never have your back to the enemy. She scrambled off of Harm's lap, who was equally scrambling off of the floor, and they both stared at the closet.

The thudding continued, again alternating between a soft, muffled thudding and a sharp, loud thudding.

"You go."

"You go."

"No, you go."

"You."

"You're the Marine."

"You're a coward."

They glanced at each other and grinned.

"Look," she decided to try and reason with him, "You're the foolhardy one who always runs blindly into volatile situations without a plan. This is perfectly suited to your skills."

He gave her a withering glare. "I always have a plan," he crossed his arms and put on his most cocky pose.

"Alright, "she nodded towards her closet and mirrored his stance, "What is it?"

He raised an eyebrow, "We get a pot. A big one. With a lid. And you use it to catch whatever is in your closet. Then you set it free."

"That is a stupid plan."

"What's your plan? Shoot whatever is in there?"

He had indeed gotten pretty good at reading her because suddenly both his eyebrows shot up and his arms gesticulated between her and the closet. "That was your plan!"

She gave him her best defiant stare. "And it still would be."

"But..."

"But," she hesitated before looking longingly at the closet, "my gun's in there."

And then her ears were assaulted for the second time that evening by a hearty Harmon Rabb belly laugh.

She frowned at him. "Not funny."

"Always prepared?" He was still laughing.

She decided not to dignify that with an answer. She waited patiently for his laughter to run its course. Two minutes and 16 seconds later, he finally straightened, studied her for 9 seconds and then left the room with a purposeful gait. Her eyes followed his progress, more than a little curious. What was he up to?

An answer was handed to her moments later in the shape of a pot and a lid. "Here."

"Harm! We agreed that was an awful plan!"

"No, you agreed. Think of it this way," he gave her that maddeningly self-satisfied look of his, "if you get that thing out of your closet, you can get your gun and shoot whatever it is."

"Marines don't shoot things in pots," she grumbled looking at the pot in her left hand and the lid in her right hand. She switched the items around – pot in right, lid in left – and tried it for fit. It didn't feel right. She switched them again.

"Stalling?" That smug look again.

"You do it."

He shook his head, arms still crossed. "Your closet."

"Whatever happened to 'I'll be right there'?"

"I am right here."

"To help, dammit, not just stand there with your arms crossed and your," she waived the pot at him, "stupid macho attitude."

"What would the Corps say, Mackenzie?"

Mac wished looks could kill. Though the pot was an adequate Plan B.

"Harm." She tried to look her most intimidating.

He shrugged lightly, "I can help you if you would like."

She clenched her teeth and once again buried her pride. "Yes."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.

She sighed. "Please."

His entire demeanour suddenly brightened, "Just say the word, Mackenzie."

She ignored the urge to pull her hair out at his maddening behaviour. "Your job is to open the closet door on three."

"So, umm," he glanced at her before reluctantly eying the closet, "on three, right?"

She nodded.

He continued, oblivious to her agreement. "Like one, two, three."

"That's great, Harm, you got it in the right order."

"So, _on_ three, right? Not after-"

"Ready?" she cut him off and threw him a pointed glare for good measure. The weapons in her hands, and Harm's sudden trepidation, suddenly gave her a burst of determination. She focussed her attention once again on the closet doors and, just as quickly, determination fled.

They both took a deep breath.

"Ready," they said simultaneously.

She placed herself right in front of the door and he stood right beside it with one hand on the handle.

"One," she raised her arms, placing the pot and lid about 30 centimetres apart in front of her. "Two," she widened her arms slightly and kept her eyes on the floor in front of the closet. Who knew how big whatever was in there was and she had to catch it before it ran. They both took another deep breath. "Three!"

Harm whipped the closet door open and her eyes frantically searched the floor of the closet for any sign of movement. Nothing. What the hell.

She turned to look at Harm who was ducking behind the now open closet door, one hand shielding his face and the other on the door handle.

"Harm!" she couldn't help but laugh, "shame on you!"

"What? Ah, no, I wasn't, umm, I was-"

His poorly mounted defence was interrupted by a blur of gray that catapulted itself out of the closet and flew in a speedy, haphazard path across her bedroom.

Was that a bat? She felt the slimy fingers of disgust creep their way up her spine. She HATED bats. So she did the only reasonable thing: she screamed.

"The pot! Mac!" Harm ducked once again and covered his head with his arms. "The pot!"

She glanced down at the pot and lid in her hands. She glanced up at the bat. She looked at Harm who was cowering by her bed. An epiphany struck: it was his idea. It was only fair that he carried it out.

She threw the pot and lid at his bent form. They landed with a clang by his feet.

"You do it!" She saw the mass of gray head in her direction on webbed wings. "I'll be outside!"

"Mac!"

She turned and ran - walked at a quick and efficient pace - the hell out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Once safely on the outside, she leaned heavily against the door. A clang resounded from inside. Now some muffled curses. Another clang. A crash - was that her lamp? Another clang. A rather large thud. Swearing. Clang. Swearing. Clang. Cry of victory – that sounded like Harm. Did he catch the thing?

"Mac!" she heard him yell urgently from the confines of her bedroom, "Open the door!"

"Did you catch it?"

"Mac! Open it! Open it!"

She turned and quickly opened the door. She was greeting by the site of Harm holding the pot with one hand and firmly keeping the lid in place. He looked at her, mildly alarmed, mostly panicked.

"Open your balcony doors!"

She pointed at the pot, "Is it in there?"

Her answer came in the form of clanging from inside the pot. "Mac!"

"Alright, alright!" He was practically bouncing from one foot to the other and she fought the urge to imagine him in a chef's hat. Instead, she ran to the balcony doors and threw them open. He was right on her heels and exited onto the balcony as soon as she was out of the way. She shut the balcony doors behind him. Just to be safe.

She watched as he threw the pot over the balcony. Interesting, not the method she would have chosen. She watched Harm turn around as soon as the pot was out of his hands and rush back into the apartment. She realized a moment too late – and he not at all – that the balcony doors were shut. She saw a ball of grey zoom past Harm's head and into the night just as Harm ran headfirst into the balcony doors. He fell back against the rails of her rather narrow balcony and put a hand to his forehead. She looked very guilty and he looked slightly bewildered.

Mac opened the balcony door, grabbed Harm by the arm and pulled him in before firmly closing the doors.

They both slumped against the wall and slid to the floor side by side, trying to still their racing hearts.

He was the first to speak, his breathing erratic due to the adrenaline that was coursing through him, "I never knew you were that afraid of bats."

She shrugged and kept her eyes on the wall in front of them.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"If ever…"

"I know," still not looking directly at him, she gave a half smile and reached a hand out to playfully tug his shirt sleeve to thank him for the offer.

Satisfied, he turned back to face the wall across from them and focused on regulating his breathing.

A moment later, she broke the silence, "Sorry about the doors."

"You would have made a great commercial airline pilot."

She turned to face him, "What?"

He turned his head to look directly at her. "All flight and no fight."

"And after all the scrapes you've gotten yourself into, another blow to the head can only do good things for you."

They stared at each other before breaking out into identical grins.

He reluctantly broke their gaze and leaned his head back against the wall. She studied his profile and could see the remnants of adrenaline draining away, leaving only traces of weariness. She felt more than a little guilty for her escape.

"I'm sorry I left you there," she tried to sound appropriately repentant, but if she were to be honest she would not do a thing differently were she put in the same position again.

"If you hadn't, we'd probably both be dead by now."

She could almost see the good-humoured teasing peeking out from behind his words. So she played along. "How do you figure?"

He smiled mischievously and opened one eye to look at her, "You would have tried to shoot the damn thing."

She was actually offended. "I have great aim!"

He scoffed, his full attention now on her, the smile on his face not relenting, "I'd take me with a pot over you with a gun any day."

She watched him and savoured the pleasant familiarity of their banter. She loved just talking with him. "I can't argue there. I'd definitely take you any day."

His smile widened. He raised an eyebrow, "Are you flirting with me, Sarah Mackenzie?"

She smiled slightly before turning her attention away from him and towards the room.

"How the hell did a bat get in here?"

They both looked around the room curiously, hoping to find an answer.

Harm finally shrugged, "Maybe you let it in."

It was her turn to scoff. "Oh, right. I forgot about the 'roommate wanted' ad I posted at the zoo. How silly of me."

"Mac, I don't mean intentionally. Maybe through a window."

"I didn't even know there were bats in DC."

"There are bats in attics and buildings all over the U.S." he said this in a pedantic tone that he knew would rile her.

"Thank you, Crocodile Hunter. Any other gems of trivia you want to share with the class."

He ignored the sarcasm that threatened to mount a violent attack on him. "Actually," he continued looking around her room, "you are on the top floor. Maybe there's a hole in your closet and bats in your building. One of them could have gotten through."

She stared at him, half disbelieving, half wary, "Is that even possible?"

He shrugged again and nodded. "Old buildings have all kinds of flaws."

"What are you doing next weekend?"

The sudden shift in the conversation confused him. "Me? Next weekend? Why?"

"I'm moving. Want to help me pack?"

He laughed. "Maybe you should talk to your landlord before giving this place up. This could be a one-time thing."

She didn't look convinced. Her eyes roamed the room, pausing for a short while on all the corners and a very long while on the closet. "I cannot sleep here tonight," she paused for a moment, considering, "Or ever again."

"Wait. That's perfect."

"What? My apartment is infested by bats-"

"One bat, Mac. One bat."

"I'm basically homeless-"

"That's a bit dramatic."

"And you," she punched him on the shoulder, "think it's 'perfect'?"

"It is."

"Harmon Rabb, have you lost your mind?"

"This is perfect, Mac. Move in with me."

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out so she shut it. She opened it again to give another attempt, but all that came out was a confused, strangled sound. She shut it again and took a deep breath. One last try: "You, ah, want me to move in with you?"

He nodded.

"Into your apartment?"

He nodded again.

"To live?"

He nodded again, this time a small smile tugged at his lips, his eyes twinkled with amusement.

"With you?"

He laughed lightly, "yes, Mac. That's generally what moving in with someone implies."

"Harm," solemnity chased away her confusion and surprise. He sobered at her tone and wondered if she would say no. "Don't make a spur of the moment decision we'll both regret."

"Mac, I'm not." True, they hadn't discussed this and the question was rather sudden, but as soon as he had asked, he knew he wanted this. Badly. He just didn't know how to convince her.

"Harm," she turned to face him and put a hand on his arm, "you make impetuous, off-the-cuff decisions sometimes without thinking things through. This is," she looked away briefly before re-establishing eye contact, "this is too important to me. You are too important."

He shook his head at her words, "Mac-"

"I'm okay with where we are, Harm. I don't need this kind of commitment from you. So please, please don't offer it unless you really want it."

Realization hit him. "This is why you never talk about the future, our future."

The sudden change in the direction of his thoughts startled her. As did the acuity of his conclusion. Her gaze settled on her hand as it rested on his arm. She chose to hedge. "What do you mean?"

"That time when I mentioned our baby deal."

She remembered that very clearly. She had been teasing him one morning, wrapped in his arms and sunlight. He had turned and pinned her beneath him, her hands above her head.

"Never underestimate the enemy, Mackenzie," he had said with his irresistible grin.

She had arched an eyebrow, moved slowly beneath him with no plans of escaping, "is that what we are?"

He had laughed, his eyes never leaving hers, "You know, Mac, I had never imagined that working on our baby deal would be this much fun."

She had been so taken aback by the proclamation that she had said nothing, had stared in silent shock before flipping them over and gently rubbing her hands below his navel, "Never," she kissed his left nipple without breaking eye contact and was relieved that the gesture made him forget his previous line of thought, "underestimate the enemy, Harmon."

His voice wrenched her out of her reverie. "You didn't say anything, Mac."

She did not know how to respond. So she remained silent.

"And that time in the restaurant."

He remembered that? The thought surprised her. Surely he would have forgotten. She, however, remembered it very clearly. They had finished dinner and when the waiter had brought the dessert menu, she had insisted that he order something besides a boring black coffee. He had relented with an order of Wild Berry Meringue Torte which she had proceeded to happily 'share' with him in addition to enjoying her own Dark Chocolate Mousse.

He had sighed and rolled his eyes indulgently at her ploy, "So, when we're eighty, have no teeth and are confined to wheelchairs, I'm guessing you'll wheedle me this same way to get an extra serving of apple sauce."

His comment had almost caused her to waste a perfectly wonderful bite of chocolate mousse by choking on it. The waiter had interrupted them by bringing their coffee so she was saved from having to formulate a response. She thought he would have forgotten about that comment by now.

"You didn't say anything then, either," he was watching her, she could feel it, waiting for her to say something. She couldn't think of a way to distract him away from his current course of interrogation.

He gave a short laugh that held no amusement, "You didn't think I meant it." He sounded appalled at the very thought.

"Mac," he took her hands in his and tugged them gently so that she would look at him. She reluctantly complied and immediately wished she hadn't when she saw his expression of confusion and worry and just a little bit of hurt.

"You don't believe me."

"It's not that, Harm."

"I've been dropping hints for ages and you never respond. I thought you were processing, or" he paused, searched for an explanation in her eyes and found none, "or something." He gave an incredulous laugh coated with disbelief, "But you - you…why?"

She shrugged, looked to the side before forcing her eyes to lock on his. "I've seen you with girlfriends in the past. Or even with me, before we started seeing each other. You never seemed the settling down type, never gave any indication of wanting to commit to anyone in that way. I thought, maybe, maybe…I don't know," the thought made less and less sense to her as she said it out loud. "Maybe that was just how you speak. That your intentions weren't the same as your words."

He sighed in mock exasperation. "You're piece of work, Marine, you know that?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. Of all the possible reactions to her confession, this was not one she had expected.

He tapped her nose with his forefinger and grinned, "Don't give me that look, sweet thing." He tucked her hair behind her ear and watched her, his expression all gentleness and affection. She couldn't help but smile in surprise at his mood. He only called her 'sweet thing' when he was either teasing her or playfully exasperated with some quirk of hers. She had never understood why until after he told her the story behind the origins of the term.

He continued, "I think that it's time for you to let go and trust me," he raised his eyebrows and pointed a finger to his chest, "to trust you," he placed his index finger on her collarbone, "and," he took her hand in his and placed it over his heart, "to trust this."

She looked away momentarily and sighed before bringing a studious, considering gaze to his face.

"Harm…" she still wasn't so sure.

"Sarah." His tone was an odd mixture of frustration and warning.

"Thank you."

He was taken aback.

"What? Why?"

She shrugged, looked slightly unsure of herself. He had not seen her look this self-conscious in a while, at least not in front of him.

"This is more than I," she hesitated, searched for an appropriate word, "expected."

He smiled and pulled her in for a hug. "Well, Mac, when you date a stud like me, you have to have higher expectations."

She laughed as she pulled back to see his face. She placed her hand along his jaw, her thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone.

"So, we're moving in together?" Her smile was uncontrollable.

He nodded, grinning just as widely, "Time to update your mailing address."

She hugged him tightly before giving him a heart-stopping kiss. All too quickly for his liking she pulled back, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Holy packing tape, Harm!"

"What?" he tried to focus on her words and not her lips as they formed the words.

"I'm going to be roommates with Batman!"

The End.

Note: If you really do find a bat in your house/apartment, use a container with a breathing hole, like a shoe box, rather than a pot to catch it - if you're brave/crazy enough to try and catch it, that is. And a friendly piece of advice: Do not google 'bat apartment infestation'. It's not worth it, trust me. I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight.


End file.
